


Eight Count

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Sports, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Boxing & Fisticuffs, M/M, Minor Violence, Rimming, Sports, Top Benny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 17:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2200917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester was ready to face Benny Lafitte in the boxing ring, even though he knew it was a risky match. But when Benny approaches him in a bar later that night, Dean finds he's up for another round of a different sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Count

1 

"Ready?" Castiel asked, checking the fastening on Dean's boxing gloves one more time. Dean was fighting up a weight class tonight, and Castiel always worried more when he was taking part in unsanctioned bouts. The worry was an itch under his skin as he fretted, and he needed to be doing _something_ or he would lose his mind. So he checked things unnecessarily. Even though this was old hat for them; Dean was more than experienced enough to handle the fight. In theory. In theory, it was also a terrible, dangerous idea to let him do this. But the unvarnished truth was that they needed the money. And whether Dean decided to take the fall and pad his opponent's stats or not, he was getting paid well to fight this Lafitte character. 

"Remember, he's more of a brawler, so you've got to stay on your toes, and don't let him land any big hits. Fight outside." Castiel knew he had already said this to Dean, but it was important, it bore repeating. And he was worried. He swallowed, anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

"I know," Dean said, rolling his shoulders. He was fired up, Castiel could see it in his eyes: ready for the fight. It was now or never. He hooked a hand around the back of Dean's head, bringing their foreheads to touch. Dean reciprocated with a gloved fist. 

"You've got this," Castiel said.

"I've got this," Dean agreed. Castiel opened the door to the warehouse. Dean stepped out of the supply closet they had been given to prepare in behind Castiel, and they pushed through the crowd towards the ring together. 

_Ring_ was a nice term for the center of the crowd, the space mapped in chalk lines on the floor, as temporary and transient as everything else about this match. Castiel felt his stomach twist uneasily: this wasn't a smart match. Lafitte might be a brawler who would rely more on his brute strength than finesse when going up against a smaller opponent, but this could go sideways in a dozen different ways, each easier than the last. _The cash_ , he reminded himself. _We need the money_. 

Sizing up Lafitte from across the ring, Castiel was pleased to note that at least Dean, although lighter, was also slightly taller. He should have the advantage on reach. As long as he avoided taking any serious hits…which was a big enough _if_ that Castiel knew he wouldn't enjoy a single second of this fight. 

 

2 

It was almost cinematic, the way that the sounds booming off the walls seemed to quiet as his opponent approached from across the crowded warehouse and their eyes locked. Benny could feel it, an almost-physical snap in the air, tension in the room ramping up as Dean Winchester stepped inside the chalk outline on the floor. His lips curved in a smile: the hungry predator sensing easy prey. 

Because Winchester? Was _pretty_. And boys like him didn't like getting knocked around too much, could rarely take a blow well. He knew his manager had set up this fight to help him pad out his stats, help him break into the big leagues - but there were cupcakes, and then there was the six-odd feet of gorgeous standing across from him. 

There was fire in Winchester's eyes, though. Benny hoped he might get a bit of a workout in before he put the kid's lights out. 

_Wow_ , he thought again, distracted by the vibrant green of Winchester's eyes, _fuckin' pretty_. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the looseness in his muscles: he was ready. 

The referee signaled them both to approach. Winchester held his eyes as they touched gloves: maybe this could be a good fight after all. Because the kid wasn't trying to intimidate him, wasn't trying to psyche Benny out or put him on edge. He was just plain _unintimidated_ , confident in his own ability. And that had an unsettling effect of its own. 

 

3

Dean sized up the bear of a man standing across from him, watched as Lafitte dropped into his stance. Clear blue eyes regarded him warily, flicking over his form, watching the minutia of his movements: weakness, injury, anything that could give Lafitte an advantage. So he was worried about going up head to head against Dean. Good. He should be. 

It always rankled Dean's pride to take on these fights that he was expected to lose. Because occasionally he _did_ lose, and it burned. But his technique got better every time, and at this point he was feeling confident in his ability to handle just about any foe. 

Of course, it didn't help that the first thought that had crossed Dean's mind upon seeing Benny ( _no, the name's Lafitte, and he is not your friend_ ) was how much he would enjoy being pounded by this guy. The sexy kind of pounding. Not the kind that Lafitte was aiming for now, with a quick jab at Dean, testing his reflexes. Testing his defenses. 

_I'm not gonna make it that easy on you_ , Dean thought, dancing out of the way. _Come and get me, you son of a bitch, let's party_. He smiled, a toothy grimace that was mostly taunt.

Lafitte charged, and Dean landed a blow to his ribs as he stepped just out of reach. Lafitte's cross blew harmlessly past him. Dean tried not to smirk: cocky was a bad thing, in the ring. But his good feeling about this fight was working out. At least so far. 

 

4

It had taken him until the third round to land a solid blow on Winchester, and by that point the kid had him gassed. He was quick, and fast, and fuckin' _quick_. Benny felt confident a few solid blows could win him this match, but he just couldn't get anything to land. By the fourth round, he was worried they would go the distance, but the crowd was screaming, loving the theatrics. A crappy bout for the boxers could make for great theatrics, he reminded himself, his manager's voice ringing in his ears. 

He charged again. Dean tucked into his charge, got too close, and took Benny's punch on his shoulder as he landed another blow to Benny's ribs. The bell sounded. 

The next round should be the last. Five rounds was short, but there were other bouts on the schedule tonight, and if this crowd got bored they left. They never let bouts go past five rounds, not here. Whatever that meant for the boxers. 

Winchester surprised Benny again by continuing his tactics. Usually the fighters changed their style in the fifth, if they could, tried to get a win before the referee stepped in and made the decision for them. But Benny had to hand it to Winchester - the kid fought clean, fought tough - as much as he avoided Benny's blows, he was adept at turning into them, changing his body position so they hit, but not with the force or aim Benny needed them to. So the pretty boy _could_ take a hit. Benny liked him more and more all the time: opponent or no, Winchester had his respect. 

Benny thought he had it, for a moment, towards the end of the fifth round. He landed a blow to Winchester's side that had him doubled over, scrambling away from Benny to try to find a second to catch his breath. The crowed roared as Benny stalked after him, planning to (finally) put an end to this. He thought he might try to do it with a single blow to the head; doubtless, the crowd would prefer a serious pummeling before he went for the decisive blow, but something in Benny made him unwilling to put Winchester through that. He liked the guy, which was idiotic given the circumstances, but still true. His eyes stung with the sweat dripping into them, his heart pounding as his muscles ached leadenly and he willed himself to finish this off. 

As he got within range, however, Winchester came up swinging, aiming for Benny's core from his lowered position, the angle too awkward for Benny to land his planned blow. He adjusted, tried to block, tried to get in a few good blows for all of the ones Winchester was raining on him, but now Winchester had him on the retreat, defending rather than attacking, and Benny realized he had been fooled. They all had. He had felt that blow connect, knew Winchester had to have been hurt, but the kid had played it up, played him, lured him in and struck with an energy he shouldn't still have this late in the fight. 

He was almost afraid the match was over until he finally connected one more blow, taking Winchester on the jaw. He waited for the kid to go down, but somehow Winchester didn't, somehow he was turning back towards Benny, a fist lightning quick to Benny's solar plexus, and Benny found himself gasping for air as the final bell sounded. 

The referee gathered them together, raising Dean's hand in his own and declaring him the winner. But with the gorgeous flush on Winchester's cheeks, the wild sweaty mess of his hair, the grin that lit up his features - Benny wasn't sure he had ever enjoyed watching himself lose a bout quite this much before. 

 

5

The whiskey was warm going down, smooth and soothing and Dean was glad he'd splurged on the good stuff. Castiel had headed home after the bout, taking most of their winnings with him. Dean didn't resent it; they had bills to pay, the two of them, including their rent. He was just glad that the promoter hadn't tried to cheat him out of the purse after he managed to take down Lafitte: it had happened before. But the crowd had loved their match, and apparently the betting pools had gotten huge as the rounds wore on. The promoter had seemed genuinely pleased as he forked over the cash. He'd invited Dean back, but Dean knew he wouldn't go if he could help it. If they could get by on the more legitimate matches. Lafitte had been a good fighter, fought clean enough, but there were others there who wouldn't hesitate to make a dirty move, and land an opponent in the hospital (or worse). He had seen it happen to friends.

Besides, Dean had out-fought the guy. Lafitte had plenty of power, but he wasn't any match for Dean's speed. 

He was exhausted, he realized, as he swirled the liquid around the bottom of his glass, the movement making him feel vaguely dizzy. Three drinks in and his head was already feeling swimmy. He should probably head home. Maybe stop and grab something good and greasy on the way. Fuck, a burger sounded _awesome_ right now. 

He felt more than saw the large figure slide onto the bar stool next to his, warmth invading his space, the scent of the man oddly familiar. Dean raised his eyes from his glass to meet the blue eyes and soft smile waiting for him. 

"Buy you another one of those, brother?" Lafitte offered. Benny Lafitte. Dean's stomach clenched warily. Sure, there were boxers who ran in the same circles outside the rings. Sparring partners, even close friends. But only once had had he been approached by a boxer he had just beaten in a bar, the night of the match. The guy had had a few, thought a rematch would be a good idea. It hadn't ended well. So Dean was understandably wary. 

"Look," he started to say, prepared to warn the guy off. But Lafitte raised one big paw appeasingly, and waited for Dean's expectant look before he spoke. 

"I'm not looking to start anything," he said, and his open, easy body language told Dean that might just be the truth. "Just, you fought well. I respect that. I thought I might buy you a drink, and maybe we could chat a little." He turned both palms up, offering and asking at the same time. 

"Yeah, okay," Dean acceded, not willing to let his guard down completely, but there was something in Lafitte's mannerisms that he liked. Not to mention that he was easy on the eyes. 

Not that Dean made a habit of sleeping with opponents. That was, as Castiel would probably put it, extremely inadvisable. There were enough closed minded homophobes that it could cause him serious trouble - and Dean had learned young not to go looking for that particular kind of trouble. 

He tried to ignore the itching above his left eye where the skin had split during their fight. 

"You fought good too, Lafitte," Dean offered, after the bartender had brought them each another drink. 

"Call me Benny, chère," Benny corrected him. Something in Dean relaxed at that: as if he hadn't realize how hard he was fighting to keep this man at a professional distance until he had permission not to. There was something warm and curious in Benny's eyes, and Dean found himself wondering again. Wondering _if_. It this might be leading somewhere new. 

"Gotta say, I prefer 'Dean' to 'chère'," Dean griped good-naturedly. "I ain't nobody's sweetheart," he said, tossing back half of his drink. When he glanced at Benny, Benny was smiling warmly at him, and yeah, Dean didn't even need his level of experience to know that there was something there. He felt warm, excited. Everything about Benny made him want to reach out and touch. 

"Alright, brother," Benny agreed. "Dean it is." 

 

6 

Benny let his legs fall open, one knee resting warmly against Dean's. He thought he saw a certain kind of willingness in the kid...but it paid to be careful with these things. He took a sip of his drink, gave Dean a chance to adjust or move away. After a moment of tension, however, Dean seemed to relax, letting his weight settle more fully into his elbows where he had them perched on the bar. 

"You do this often?" Dean asked, his voice startlingly soft for the power Benny knew him to be capable of. And there was a second question in there, subtext that Dean wasn't voicing, but Benny heard him just the same. _Do you do_ this _, approach guys you've fought, get friendly, maybe get more than friendly. Do you do this, am I just another notch on the bedpost, or are you  interested in_ me _?_

If Benny was honest with himself, it was kind of heartbreaking. Because, yes, of course he wanted Dean. But more than that, the young fighter had drawn him in, had him invested before Benny even knew what was happening. 

"No," Benny replied, eyes drifting from Dean's down to his lips and back again, "haven't ever done this before, actually." It was true, and he was suddenly glad of it. He didn't want this to feel like something commonplace, like an experienced repeated often with only minor variations. It was different, unique already because of Dean, but every layer of added uniqueness made him glad: it meant he would remember it well.

"Good," Dean said, soft but emphatic. He swirled the amber liquid in the bottom of his glass, watching it move before he tossed it back. "Because I really want to do this," he said, setting his glass on the bar and turning his body so that his thighs framed Benny. Benny met his eyes, saw the mixture of anticipation, arousal, and no small measure of vulnerability there. 

He couldn't quite decide whether he'd rather take Dean home and fuck him until he couldn't walk straight, or make him dinner and cuddle for a few hours. Well, maybe the second one, followed by the first. Or the other way around. Benny cursed himself silently for nearly planning out a future with a guy he had just met. It didn't do to imagine tomorrow when one was drinking in a dive bar late at night. 

He was falling hard for Dean: this could be dangerous. Dean drained his glass, setting it on the bar with a thunk. 

"One more?" Benny asked, and the shy, almost sweet look Dean gave him told him all that he needed to know. 

"Why the hell not," Dean replied, that confident swagger returning to his voice as he grinned wickedly at Benny. 

 

7

They ended up back at Benny's place, since Dean didn't want to disturb Castiel. Dean vaguely noted nautical elements to the decor of Benny's apartment, made a mental note to ask Benny about all of that after he finished getting royally fucked. Now, however, he was a little more focused on Benny's mouth on his, Benny's hands sliding down his back, down to cup his ass and pull Dean's hips flush against his own. Dean heard himself groan a little into Benny's mouth at that, knew he was being easy, didn't give a flying fuck. 

Because he _wanted_ Benny, wanted all the warmth and laughter and life that he saw in those eyes, wanted the thickness of him and wanted the strength. Not a lot of guys stood a chance of manhandling Dean in the bedroom, but Benny had no trouble getting him pressed against the wall, one shoulder pinned with his own, both of them fighting to somehow get more, get closer. 

Dean grunted as Benny pressed against his ribs: Benny pulled away, looking concerned. 

"Nailed me pretty good there earlier," Dean said, indicating the right side of his ribcage. Nothing broken, but he never expected to come away from a fight unbruised. Benny laughed softly, even as he gently lifted Dean's shirt to inspect the indicated area. 

"Plan on nailing you again, pretty good," he teased, fingers brushing gently over the warm redness that would darken and purple in a day or two's time. Benny bent down, brought his lips to the area, pressed a kiss to it. Dean tried to suppress an eye roll - it was a little much, and just as he was about to write this whole thing off, because he was not some fucking delicate flower that needed to be handled with kid gloves, and Benny of all people should know that - Benny scraped his teeth over the skin, drawing a hiss from Dean. 

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed, half at the pain, and half at Benny who was now grinning up at him, having pressed his lips to the bruise again. 

"You gonna remember me?" Benny said, nuzzling close to press a kiss to Dean's jaw line. Dean had a flash of a moment from their fight earlier, a blow connecting to Benny's left side, and he pressed his fingers gently where his glove had struck earlier. 

"Only if you remember me," he said, feeling himself smile as Benny's fingers tightened on his hips. Pain play wasn't exactly his thing, he got more than enough of it in his line of work, but some part of him liked the idea of shadows of Benny lingering under his skin for a while, a tangible reminder of the warm man pressed against him now. 

"No way in hell I could forget you," Benny answered, and the genuine affection in his voice made something deep inside Dean thaw. He could feel himself falling for Benny, pulled along by it almost as if he were watching it happen to someone else, and he didn't want to do a thing to stop it. 

He kissed Benny again to shut him up, before things got terribly sappy, let Benny manhandle him onto the bed. Benny was just as gentle and sincere a lover as he was fierce a fighter. He took his time with Dean, teasing with his mouth and fingers until Dean was writhing on the sheets, demanding Benny _get the fuck inside me_ already. 

"You're eager for it," Benny teased, lining up the head of his cock against Dean's hole. It felt as thick as it looked, the fat head pressing at his rim, the condom slick with lube, and Dean had to shut his eyes against the intensity of the feeling. 

"Shit, man, you've been teasing me for a fuckin' hour," Dean complained, gasping as the head slipped in and Benny paused. Dean felt skewered open already, his body hungry for the intrusion yet unprepared for it despite the three thick fingers Benny had had inside him already. The stretch grew perfect, however, as he relaxed into it, and Benny slid a little further inside.

"Fuck," Benny growled, eyes fixed on where the two of them were joined. His face and chest were flushed, hair a mess, and Dean smiled a little as he felt Benny sliding slowly in to fill him, loved the look on Benny's face at the sensation. He let his eyes fall shut again as Benny bottomed out, tangled his fingers in Benny's hair when Benny leaned down to kiss him. 

"Ready?" Benny asked, wrapping a hand around Dean's still half-hard cock and stroking gently, as if he hadn't spent forever making sure that yes, Dean was incredibly fucking _ready_. 

At least Dean had thought. As much as Dean had been prepared for Benny earlier that night, had been able to anticipate his moves as they fought, could read his body like his thoughts were written on his skin, he was unprepared for the way Benny fucked into him, the way Benny seemed to read Dean, to simply _know_ exactly what to do in order to drive Dean out of his mind with bliss. 

He was ruined for anyone else, he realized later, but in the moment his mind was brightly blank with pleasure, no thoughts except _more_ , _yes_ , and _Benny_.

Benny lasted longer than Dean did, with a rough callused hand on his dick and Benny's thick cock up his ass. He wasn't sure it was entirely his fault that he fell apart completely, his orgasm taking him by force even as he tried to cling to the knife's edge of pleasure before tipping over that edge. Faintly, he heard Benny growl, felt Benny thrusting harder as he rode it out. He opened his eyes as he came back to earth to find Benny's gaze locked on his. Benny's breath caught as their eyes met, and Dean felt goosebumps break out on Benny's arms as he cursed, coming hard inside Dean.  

 

8

Benny felt the bed shift next to him in the dark, warmth fading slightly. Well that was just plain unacceptable. He reached out, a sleep-deadened limb pawing clumsily at Dean. Dean, his brain waking just enough to remember, who seemed to be leaving. 

"Gotta piss," Dean rumbled blearily, the blankets sliding off of his hot skin as he slipped out of the bed. Benny rumbled something in response, wanted to say _you'd better not be lying and leaving_ , _get back here_ , but the words were like syrup bubbling up too slowly to make it out of his mouth. 

He fell asleep again, even as he tried to stay awake enough to listen for the sound of Dean's footsteps returning. He woke again to a warm body curling up against his, Dean pulling Benny's arm around his waist. 

When he woke again, Dean was still there, sprawled with the covers half kicked off, snoring quietly. The early morning sunlight slanted in through his blinds, casting stripes of lights over Dean's skin. Benny smiled to himself. 

Benny was down for the count, he supposed. But taking a fall had never felt quite this easy before. 

 


End file.
